


Red Lessons

by GoblinCatKC



Series: The Red Room [2]
Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, M/M, Prostitution, Turtlecest (TMNT)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-04 19:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17310560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoblinCatKC/pseuds/GoblinCatKC
Summary: (sequel to Red Echoes) Leonardo does his best to hide what happened during the kidnapping and his decisions afterward, but some things have a way of revealing themselves. When he can't create, can't build, can't even use his own sword...there is one thing he's good at.





	1. You Can Never Leave the Red Room

Sometimes Leonardo talked too much, fired jokes like bullets, one liners thrown out so that his brothers didn't notice that his smile was a little too wide, his eyes a bit too bright. Rapid-fire banter and quips left his brothers groaning at how bad they were, puns that sometimes drew a genuine chuckle. Something original. Something that actually hit its mark.

Not often. Leonardo was no jokester. He had to admit that Michelangelo was much better at that.

Days curled up into weeks, hours in the lair that stretched out and out until they stretched out of shape—Leonardo felt the edges of the afternoon fade and fall flat. Anything he said, anything he did, all become monotone, monochrome, a single color that grabbed his memories and tried to pull him backward.

_"Do you like my red room?"_

"Earth to Leo," Raphael said, "your turn to do dishes!"

Leonardo lifted his head, now awake. He wasn't where he thought he'd been. The game controller was in one hand, the screen in front of him flashing patiently. Player 2, a pangolin on a pogo stick, teetered dangerously on a tightrope.

"Dude..." Michelangelo crawled off the couch and sat down in front of him, looking into his eyes. "You okay? Kinda spaced out there."

Leonardo glanced at his little brother for a moment, then lowered his look, putting down the controller. 

"Just tired," he mumbled as he climbed to his feet.

"Leo—" Michelangelo tried again, already knowing he'd be deflected.

"Gotta go," Leonardo said. "You heard the man and you know what he's like when he has to do someone else's chores."

Dinners were awkward. Half the family knew something the other half didn't and knew they didn't. Even Splinter, who somehow knew Leonardo had been wounded, didn't know all the details. Only Raphael, who had been in the red room, who had seen the wealthy condominium and the cage and the bodies, knew what Leonardo had done. What had been done to him. 

The empty hole in the conversation demanded to be filled, and Leonardo thought he would die if anyone else knew. The pity in Raphael's eyes was torture enough—anyone else looking at him like that would kill him. But Michelangelo looked crushed that Leonardo wouldn't talk to him, and Donatello was completely lost, having experienced none of it. Donatello picked up every puzzle pice, watching their body language and how their voices dropped around each other, but he lacked the picture to put it together.

At night, after Leonardo finished playacting his old self, he went up back to his room. The lights were still broken—Raphael hadn't pushed to have them fixed, and Leonardo felt safer where no one could see him. 

Safer.

Not safe.

When the lair finally went quiet and everyone went to sleep, and after Raphael had quietly snuck in to check on him for the last time, Leonardo slipped out of bed. Locked the door. Opened a portal and tossed the sword on his bed, then stepped through.

* * *

The red light district didn't know who he was. Here, under the golden streetlamp on the corner, he wrapped himself up in layers of anonymity. He paid for a bowl from the ramen cart with the money from the first client, washing the taste out of his mouth with the most expensive dish the man sold, and then went back to the light.

_Teach him a new trick, that one with his tongue—_

__

__

_If you're going to teach this one everything, you might as well keep it alive._

In the red room, he learned new obscenities on the first try.

He learned to put a condom on a client with just his mouth

He learned how to use protection when the client wasn't looking.

He learned to sense when a client carried a knife or firearm. 

He learned how to keep himself from making a sound when he fought.

The best motel rooms had fire escapes outside the window. His first act in the script was always to slide the window open and lean out, breathing in the humid, smoky air. If the client's footsteps came up too quickly behind him...

He learned how to use lamps, potted plants, even broken lightbulbs and liquor bottles. The worst was once having to stab the complimentary Dusk Inn pen into the man's eye.

And he learned that, in this part of town, bodies left behind magically vanished in a few hours, with the bed linens changed and the gore cleaned up.

It was not a comforting lesson. If a client could vanish, then so could he—if he was any slower or if his aim was less than perfect. The changing faces on the street made more sense now. Some of the prostitutes in the same district probably found new places to work, found different avenues. And some were probably wrapped in plastic and put into a dumpster so police didn't have to be called to a shady motel.

But those lessons were far and few between. Usually he sat on the windowsill and leaned out into the air, caught the scent of spicy food carts, the low murmur of music from the high end shops just around the corner, and then the client sat on the bed, laboriously taking his boots off.

He never wanted to smoke, but he always took a curious drag when offered. His small coughs and shudders made him all the more vulnerable to clients who liked to see that. 

In the quiet moments, when he was left alone in the motel room, he luxuriated in the hot water that there never seemed to be enough of at home. He hung a towel over the bathroom mirror so the glass was covered completely, always careful not to look. And he used up all of the packaged soap, cleaning away every trace before he left, going back downstairs to the street as if nothing had happened.

On the good nights, he walked home, dawdling as long as he could on the sidewalks, just another teenager in a hoodie with a reptile's skin. No one looked closely in the dark. On a bad night, shaken and sick at himself, he could hail a yokai taxi cab to take him back to the most convenient storm drain—never close enough to put his family at risk, but at least a straight shot back to the lair. 

In the gray hours of the morning, his brothers and father were fast asleep. Leonardo became a heavy sleeper, reluctant to wake up early, and Raphael knew something was wrong. He checked in on Leonardo later and later but never late enough.

* * *

How was it that limousines always had red interiors? 

Limousine rides should have been a treat. Leather seats led to fancy hotels, the promise of a clean bed, room service, palatial bathing rooms, and champagne to numb him from the night's activities. He knew better but he stepped into the limo each time. Always a new business suit, always a relaxed manner. He was rarely their first, but these ones liked to talk, to banter, and he learned the difference between funny and charming. Here, on a human lap with their hands fascinated by his tail, he didn't have to make one-liners. Playful teasing was enough, and afterward they only wanted tearful whimpers.

Humans wealthy enough to discover the yokai underground were usually just curious. Humans curious enough to come back for more were a threat. Expensive tastes drifted into fetishes for pain and suffering.

Never their own.

Usually they hadn't practiced to swing their pricey, store-bought whips hard enough to draw a welt. Often they didn't have the stomach. No matter—he winced and flinched and threw his head back and gave them the show that they wanted. Whimpers, begging, trembling on cue as their gloved hands ran across the imagined welts on his shell. 

He learned to shed tears on command.

Cheap rides and cheaper walks were beneath him now—a handful of regulars sent their valets to bring him up to their rooms, or else they enjoyed the thrill of slumming it past street vents and neon signs, the first step in their fantasy flirtation with danger. The streetlamp was simply where he stepped into the limousine. 

He learned how to hold down liquor.

His little brother wondered out loud what it was like once, and Leonardo absently answered him. "It tastes awful—like rotten vegetables." And then he'd spent a good fifteen minutes pretending that he'd found a discarded sixpack in the junk yard and tried it out, that was it, he swore. Splinter had scolded him so briefly that he knew his father had done so only for show, to discourage Michelangelo from ever trying it—

—the thought of Michelangelo drunk was enough to give them all chills— 

—and Raphael had given Leonardo the same damn pity as always. 

Red wines should have made him retch, should have brought the same disgust as the taste of fabric or the sound of laughter. Instead he felt more confident around wine bottles, handled them easily, knowing he could smash them and turn them into impromptu weapons.

As confident as he was, he still flinched when Raphael smacked his hand against the door to his bedroom, startling him out of red memories. Leonardo looked at the alarm clock flashing 1 am in scarlet letters. Lucky this time—he was usually gone by now.

"I don't know how you're doing it," Raphael growled, more angry at himself than his brother. "And I hate that you're doing it. But you gotta take your sword with you—you gotta take something with you. You're all alone out there—"

"Not like that sword does me any good," Leonardo said. "It doesn't create portals when I need it to. It's as useless as—"

He'd stopped midsentence, realizing that was a mistake as soon as he did, trying to come up with a quip to cover up, but Raphael's gaze was already softening.

"Useless as what?" Raphael asked.

"Useless as this conversation," Leonardo said, laying down and facing the wall. "Close the door, huh?"

He was up as soon as the lock clicked shut. He only held the sword long enough to slash the only portal he seemed able to create.

A broken bottle, a broken lamp, a broken chair leg...these were things that actually did something. The only thing his sword ever worked reliably for was teleporting him to the streetlamp.

* * *

In a tipsy haze, enjoying the growing cloud in his mind, Leonardo made his worst mistake.

The party was in full swing, five humans with two other escorts—a young lizard woman going by the name Mona who could use her tail for the most obscene things and a blonde kid called Zach who wasn't startled anymore by the creatures he worked with. The atmosphere in the limo was light, carefree—corporate types in for the weekend looking to blow off steam. Alcohol, sex, maybe a sex show with the other two—nothing worse than a headache in the morning.

The hotel was decorated from the '70s with a huge empty space in the center that went all the way to the roof, forming a atrium surrounded by railings that spiraled up into the darkness. It wasn't until they were riding up the glass elevator that Leonardo saw Big Mama in the atrium below.

Instantly sober, he backed up away from the glass and bumped into one of the clients. It didn't matter which one—they all looked the same in their business suits. He masked his surprise by bending and pressing his ass against the man's crotch, giving a low moan as his hips were grabbed and pulled back.

She hadn't seen him, he thought. And if he was careful, she'd never notice him. All he had to do was leave surreptitiously when it came time to go, and he was scot free.

Desperate delusions or alcohol-induced rationalization? 

The wine didn't seem to touch him anymore. Sober, increasingly nauseous, he performed two perfunctory blowjobs while his gaze remained on the door. It was the only way out. There was no fire escape at this window—they were too high and he didn't think this window opened anyway. The room was expensive, layers of gold and red trim with plush sofas and a bed large enough for several people, and as the liquor began to affect the humans, Leonardo took a moment to clean off in the bathroom. 

When he came out, he discovered that the heavy curtains had hidden a balcony. He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that Mona and Zach had the couple of clients still awake well in hand, then stepped outside for a break.

New York looked so different from on high. The constants lights reflected off the thick clouds, turning the city into a constant reddish glow that flickered in the heat rising from the pavement. In other golden windows, he saw wavering shadows of people stepping in and out of existence, and down below, the kaleidoscope of people between yellow taxi cabs. 

The wind blew across him, the salt ocean breeze that grew warm as it moved through the city. He wished he could travel with it, float away to wherever it took him. The voices behind him were turning dull with snores and drunken grumbling. It was time to go.

He came back in, joining Mona and Zach as they went through their clients' wallets and purse and took their pay and a little bit extra. "A tip," they all agreed, and they left the room together, scanning the halls and corridors as they made their way to the elevators. 

They all seemed to know what could happen to the nameless, forgotten children off the street. Without the protection of their clients' sensibilities, all of them were in danger here. Finally in the glass elevator, they all kept their eyes on the main entrance across the empty atrium. The concierge wasn't at the desk. All they had to do was—

April.

Every inch of Leonardo froze.

Forced in through the front door, April—hands behind her back, flanked on either side by suspiciously similar workmen in Big Mama's uniforms—struggled in their inescapable grip. Even from several stories up, he recognized how she bent to bite their hands and her stomping on their feet.

Glass walls or not, Leonardo had hit the stop button and was scrambling up onto the ceiling, pulling off the access panel to the elevator shaft. As he climbed out, he was surprised by Mona coming up right behind him. There was no need for words—if one of them spooked, then they all spooked, and they both reached down and helped Zach up beside them.

"Every floor has a ventilation shaft for the air conditioners," Leonardo whispered, motioning at the grate on the wall. "Go left 'till you hit the wall, turn right 'till you hit another wall, and you should be at the stairwell. If you're lucky, there'll be no one there."

"And you?" Zach asked, rubbing his shoulder where he'd been pulled up too hard. "You're not going after that girl, are you? You're asking to get caught."

"In so many ways," Leonardo sighed. "She's a friend."

Mona snorted. She was already scurrying into the ventilation shafts, not complaining that Zach held her tail so he wouldn't lose her. 

Leonardo followed them into the ducts, closing the grate behind him, but instead of going after them, he turned and found his way down. He knew where the portal to the Nexus was. 

His guess paid off. He arrived to the same spot as before, waiting overhead as the two mutants in disguise continued to drag April closer to the huge gate. And he suddenly realized a major flaw in his plan.

His sword was back on his bed in his room.

The gate swirled to life. They were passing underneath him, April dragging her feet the whole way. In a moment, it wouldn't matter that he'd been here—

He slammed his fist on the grating and tumbled down with it, landing on top of the snake mutant on her left. April reacted immediately, throwing herself to one side and wrenching free of the surprised mutant still standing. She landed on the floor, rolling to her knees, but Leonardo pushed her down so she couldn't stand.

A terrible ripping sound came from the lizard mutant looming over her, followed by the red splash and coppery scent of blood spraying the floor. She looked up and found Leonardo holding the broken grating, its broken edge dripping. 

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes," she said, coming up on her feet.

"Turn around, turn around, turn around," he muttered, and he spun her roughly, more focused on cutting the ropes around her wrists than her eyes growing wide as she saw the bodies beside them.

A snake mutant and a lizard mutant, and they would have been comical if the lizard's spine hadn't cushioned Leonardo's fall, if the snake's body wasn't still twitching as the blood pumped rhythmically out of its neck.

"And I've seen some reddish work done at night," April breathed, "a pointy reckoning that will shudder you."

"What?" Leonardo asked.

"Just...something I read at school," she murmured. "That's...that's the artery. It'll only take fifteen seconds or so—"

"Focus," he said, giving the ropes a final slice. He grabbed her by the shoulders but she didn't need to be led, following him blindly through the corridors. 

"Where we going?"

"Out of here," he said. "And hopefully not off the roof this time."

Because Raphael wasn't here. Just him, April, and no weaponry, surrounded by a building full of mutants. And somewhere inside was a spider waiting to feel when they tripped over one of her threads. Footsteps and heavy hoofbeats came from the air all around them, and he had to take them down random paths to avoid their pursuers. Somehow he always found a new hall to duck down, but they all looked alike and there were no signs pointing to stairwells.

"Why are you here?" he demanded as they ran. "Please don't tell me your new summer job is getting kidnapped."

"Might as well be," she said, catching her breath between words. "Next time, when someone asks if I'm good with yokai or whatever, I won't try to use my four turtle friends as character references."

"Well, not here at least," he said. "Big Mama just wants to use people as mutant fighters in her Battle Nexus, and she really does not like us."

"I get that now," she said. "Wait—where's the rest of 'us'? Why're you here alone?"

"Working," he said and didn't offer any more than that. "Dammit, where's the—"

An explosion came from somewhere to his left. He paused, listening intently. At the second explosion, his face set in determination and he pulled her down a new path.

"Whoa whoa wait," she said, still following at top speed since he wouldn't let go of her hand. "Why are we running toward the booms?"

"Are you kidding?" he said, turning and scooping her up in his arms in one motion, then taking a running leap off the railing over the atrium. Over her startled shriek, he smiled grimly as he saw exactly who he expected.

"I know the sound of my brothers anywhere."

He softened their fall by landing on the concierge booth, then somersaulted down to the thick carpet. Donatello had already broken out the laser function of his tech-bo, holding the ranks of mutants back, but as more came out from the halls and rooms, it would only be a matter of time before they were swarmed. Raphael glanced over his shoulder and grinned to see his brother landing with them.

"Well well, look who the cat coughed up. Y'all okay?"

"Okay now that I see you," April said. "Anyone got a Louisville Slugger I can borrow?"

"Oh no no no," came a saccharine, sickly sweet voice from above. "None of that bother here."

The first barrage of webbing came lightning quick, gray strands aimed at their heads and feet that burned up just as quickly in Donatello's barrage of laserfire. As the smoke cleared, Leonardo pushed April into the middle of his siblings and glanced around for anything at hand. His siblings had already set small fires with their attacks, and there were heavy chunks of wood and plaster lying on the floor.

"You silly dears," the spider yokai said, sliding down closer on thick webs. "You know that you can't escape, not surrounded as you are. If you'd simply surrender, I can promise you won't be harmed as my clumsy battle clowns, and that your friend's mutation will be something adorably cute. Cute fighters are simply all the rage right now."

"Donny, any ideas?" Raphael muttered.

"Hey hey hey, you're the one who can grow giant," Donatello said. "How about you give my genius a break, huh?"

"I can't do that on call," Raphael said.

Leonardo scanned the room again. The yokai were starting to lean in, willing to risk burns and broken bones if they could pile on. Escape couldn't wait any longer—

"Oh...what to my wondering eight eyes appears?" 

Big Mama came down on top of the concierge booth, casting her threads across the atrium, now obviously the center of her web. Her eight eyes blinked at once as she leaned down, staring intently at Leonardo.

"So I did see you earlier," she breathed. "I see so many yokai, what's one more turtle? But those distinctive marks—I should have known."

"Shut up," he said, taking a step back. Her sheer size dwarfed him so that her mouth was all the worse for being so close. He could see every drip of venom on those fangs.

"Stumbling half-drunk and practically performing obscenities in the elevator," she giggled. "Are you really so good that you knew I'd captured your friend so quickly?"

"Shut up," he said again, refusing to look over his shoulder. Raphael would know, of course he had to know, but Donatello was smart enough to guess if he hadn't already, and Michelangelo...no, his little brother could never know.

"Or was it just one of those lucky coincidoodles that just worked in your favor this time?" she asked. "Yes, I see it now. No sword, no belt, nothing on to speak of...you were working."

The last word came out in a squeal of delighted glee as she unraveled the truth. The heat on his skin flared so that he knew his face as red as his markings. He couldn't look behind himself at his siblings, he just couldn't, even as he heard Donatello's soft 'oh' of understanding. 

In the weeks to come, he would realize that she had been separating him out, drawing all of their focus to him so that his brothers could be jumped from behind. Alone, he would have been easy pickings—probably wrapped up in her web herself. 

But at his foot was a small pile of smoldering ash, and with a single motion, he bent, scooped the fire up in his hand and flung it at her web. So high on adrenaline and panic, he didn't feel the pain, only heard her scream as she leaped from the suddenly burning strands that sent fire shooting up to the ceiling. Every sprinkler in the hotel flashed on, dousing the floors and sending the guests rushing into the halls, packing the elevators, stampeding down the stairs, racing in a confused mob toward the entrance.

With the press of a button on his backpack, Donatello hovered above the crowd and fired at the last few mutants trying to grab his brothers. Raphael picked up Michelangelo and April, then yelled as he was caught up in the flow of the mob and carried toward the door. Almost trampled, Leonardo sprung up onto Raphael's shell, hanging on as they rode the crush of people.

With almost everyone on his back and Donatello in the air, Raphael put as much distance between them and Big Mama as possible. No one seemed to notice them climbing up to the rooftops or their acrobatics across the rooftops, each taking turns tossing April across the long gaps between high-rises until they reached her apartment.

"You didn't give her a resume, did you?" Donatello asked, fluttering around her window. "'Cause like if you did, now she's got your name and address and cell phone number."

"Are you kidding? With my work history?" April grinned and leaned on the window sill. "It pays not to hand out a resume."

Once he watched her lock up and draw the curtains, Donatello zoomed back up to the roof, landing nimbly on the ledge.

"Okay, score one for the good guys," he said. "Of course now we've royally pissed off the second head honcho we've met, so our list of places we can't go anymore is getting longer. Which is pretty ironic, considering how we couldn't hardly go anywhere before."

Bracing one foot on the ledge, Raphael sighed and stretched. "No problem. We showed 'em who's boss today; we'll show 'em who's boss tomorrow. Head honcho number two knows she can't take on the four of us, right?"

Was there an emphasis on the word four? Leonardo thought he heard his brother stress that too strongly, like a muted rebuke for him leaving the lair. He winced, looking askance. Here the sidewalks were gray, and the wind was cold as it cut across him, and the air was silent, without any trace of laughter or music.

"Good thing there was four of us," Michelangelo said, hand on his hip, giving Leonardo a look. "Seriously, bro, we looked everywhere for you—even Raph was pissed. What'd Big Mama mean that you were working?" 

Completely silent. His brothers were staring at him or, in Donatello's case, staring despite trying not to. Leonardo looked at each of their faces—closed off to him, sideways glances. And Michelangelo, wondering why they were all silent. Leonardo watched his expression change from confusion to realization, the way he looked quickly at Raphael and Donatello for their silent confirmation. They said nothing, which of course sent his thoughts to the raunchiest thing he could think of.

Michelangelo stiffened, looking at Leonardo as if—what? Leonardo couldn't tell what his little brother was thinking. Only that his eyes tightened over a grimace as Michelangelo looked at him in growing disgust.

Leonardo couldn't breathe.


	2. A Red Glow from a Red Lantern

His voice caught in his throat. The world spun. Leonardo saw their eyes widen just before the city seemed to turn over on itself, the stars flipping to be underfoot, the street suddenly paving the sky as he let himself fall backwards over the side of the building. He felt oddly weightless, didn't even feel that he was in danger. Even as he set his feet down on the damp, dirty ground of the alley, the buildings leaned at odd angles to fold over him and cover him from his brothers' looks. 

They were shouting somewhere in the distance. Running as if drunk, he left them behind, occasionally resting against brick walls, staying in darkness where he could hide. 

Long minutes passed, and their voices grew distant. Then vanished. He leaned against a dumpster, slipping and landing too hard on his shell. The jolt made the growing pain in his head flare up, and he curled up, knees to his chest, putting his head down.

The enormity of the night washed over him. He couldn't go home. He wasn't sure what they would do, but he knew he couldn't face what would be waiting there. He was left without anything, not even his mask or his belt, still sick from the alcohol, exhausted from no sleep. And no bed to return to.

His head lifted. No—he did have a bed. If...

He reached into his shell, the small space under his plastron where he could tuck—yes, it was still there. Somehow, in all the fighting and running, the night's roll of cash hadn't fallen out.

That'd be enough for a few nights at a motel. Ramen from the cart. And there were other food vendors, small bodegas crowded in amongst the fancier boutiques, places that served non-humans. He could...he could...

He could keep sitting there in the dark on the cold ground, hoping for the pain to pass.

He wondered what they'd say when they got home. What they'd think of him. Did they even want him? They hadn't tried to look very hard for him, had they? 

Practically gave up right off the bat. 

Had they even tried?

The night had turned into the early hours so that the cold air stung. Swallowing once, rubbing his eyes with the back of his fist, he pushed himself back to his feet and left the alley, wondering where he even was.

He didn't recognize the street—the shops here were closed and dark. A lone car's headlights turned a corner and left the pavement a fading red. Alone, he idled down the sidewalk, looking into the windows. A few had low security lights on, showing off the fancy clothing inside, the slim perfume bottles, health drinks. And his reflection.

He looked a thousand years older than when he'd snuck out of his room a few hours ago.

Rattling wheels a block down caught his attention. The ramen cart came around the corner, slowly pushed across the street by a weary vendor—the string lights were off, the steaming trays covered for the night. Leonardo watched him go, then realized that he must not be very far from his usual corner.

When he arrived, standing underneath the familiar lamppost with a faint sigh, he didn't move for a long time. The street was empty. The city never slept, but it moved so distantly that he couldn't even hear beyond the wind blowing between the buildings. The wind didn't smell of sea salt. Down here, only gutters and standing water.

Faint footsteps started coming down the other side of the street. He didn't move, not even with the steps crossed the street and came closer, coming to rest in front of him. Leonardo didn't lift his head, but he recognized the green skin and white bandaged ankles. He felt like he should run. Instead he was too tired to move.

"So..." Raphael said softly. "How much?"

Leonardo answered as if on a script. "...you can't afford it."

"Try me," Raphael said. "Got more'n you might think."

Every muscle of Leonardo's tensed up, refusing to move even as his brain chanted to run, run, run, just stop talking and get away. This was the worst thing he could imagine. Why had Raphael found him? This was wrong, he needed to stop talking, just keep his mouth shut and-

"Three hundred an hour," Leonardo said against his own will. "For just the basics."

Raphael didn't reply, simply standing there. His silent judgment turned sour in Leonardo's stomach. 

"Y'know, intercourse," he said, twisting the word as if he could turn it into a knife. "Five hundred an hour if you want more."

Raphael didn't bite, although his fists clenched—tell-tale sign that he was holding himself back. He reached down to his belt and didn't say anything when Leonardo flinched, holding up a roll of bills.

"S'three fifty," Raphael said. "The rest afterward."

Leonardo stared at the roll for several seconds, then glanced up at Raphael to see if he was serious. Raphael didn't change expression. Sore, tired, wanting nothing more than sleep—Leonardo took the cash and pocketed it away, turning to the nearby motel.

A short walk had them upstairs and in his usual room. Leonardo went to the window and opened it wide, breathing in the air that had turned stale and gray. The bedsprings creaked as Raphael sat down. 

If only Raphael had given him an excuse to jump.

"Leo—"

"I need a shower," Leonardo said over him, going into the bathroom and closing the door. 

Mechanically, he turned on the hot water, cleaned off, then sank down into the tub while the water coursed over his head and shell.

He was breathing too fast. Unraveling. He could almost see himself running down the drain with the grime and red rust. His headache pounded harder. The linoleum was an ugly shade of maroon turning up at the corners. This wasn't something his family was supposed to see.

_"None of you little sluts ever leaves the red room."_

_"He likes it, twist it a little harder."_

_"Now now, little one, no tears..."_

Leonardo didn't realize that the water had gone cold until the faucet squeaked and shut off. Without the water running, he heard himself muffling cries in the crook of his arm, shivering as he tightened his grip on himself. The towel wrapped around him and then he was gently picked up, held close, rocked as someone spoke softly.

He didn't hear any of it. He heard the bedsprings again, realized they were on the mattress, and that just made the crying even worse. 

"—key's beating himself up...didn't mean to make you feel bad...Donny don't even know what to do, that's a new one..." 

Raphael kept up a low chatter, not needing any response, just to fill the air with something beside empty silence. The tears he dried with the towel. 

"Ain't no idea where to go from here. Ain't like I can offer to kill the guy. You already got to him. Just...wish it weren't so bad for ya. Wish you hadn't had to do it."

After long minutes, the sobs turned into a steady crying jag that finally faded to occasional gulps of air. Leonardo still didn't say anything, content to lay in Raphael's hold. He closed his eyes, blinking, and when he opened them again, he found the morning glare through gray clouds in the window.

Adjusting himself, he saw that he was curled up on the bed, above the covers. The extra blanket at the foot of the bed had been unfurled and draped over him.

Raphael was nowhere to be seen.

Startled, Leonardo sat up, holding the blanket close for warmth. When had he fallen asleep? Splashing and the rustle of the shower curtain came from the bathroom. Leonardo stared at the door, then glanced at the window. If he ran, Raphael would never find him.

But his brain felt like lead and his muscles sagged back onto the mattress, pulling him down as if he weighed three times as much. He couldn't make himself fall back to sleep, but he didn't have to climb out of bed, either. For the first time, he was glad for how long Raphael took in the bathroom.

Was this his brother's way of showing that he trusted him? That they both knew Leonardo could disappear, and yet he didn't.

The bathroom finally opened. Wisps of steam billowed out as Raphael toweled himself off, shaking the droplets off his face. When he noticed Leonardo staring at him, he smiled and wrapped the towel around his waist.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

Leonardo frowned and shut his eyes, burying back into the pillow.

"Surprised you didn't just drag me home while I was out," Leonardo muttered.

The bed dipped as Raphael sat down next to him, resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Nah. I can't keep you locked up every day. You gotta wanna come home."

A scoff.

"So they can all look at me and know I'm a worthless slut?" Leonardo rolled his eyes under his lids. "Yeah, really looking forward to that conversation. 'Hey, Leo, you can't get the stupid sword to work but maybe you can get the enemy's attention another way—'"

The hand on his shoulder tightened, giving him a small shake. Small to Raphael. Leonardo clenched the bedspread and opened his eyes, thinking he might fall off.

"Ain't no one thinking of you like that 'cept you," Raphael said with a stern look.

"Oh, whatever," Leonardo said, pushing himself up against the headboard, out from under Raphael's hand. "None of you could hardly look at me except Mikey, and he..." 

He coughed and tried again. 

"He..."

No, the words refused to crawl out of his throat.

"Y'know, I wanted to split up to try to find you," Raphael said. "But I couldn't. I had to leave Mikey with Donny. He was crying too much to run straight and I didn't want him falling off a ledge."

Leonardo didn't even look up. "Sure."

"He knows what you were doing, yeah." Raphael rapped his knuckles on Leonardo's head. "Think—he figured out when you started, that you were doing that when you were both caught. Yeah, he knows. And he knows you were doing that to keep him safe, and that he was a—and I quote—'useless damsel in distress that couldn't do anything'."

"That's not..." Leonardo stopped himself. He knew what Raphael was doing. "That's...not important. It doesn't matter what I did then. They know I'm still doing it."

"...so why are you doing it?"

Leonardo's breathing was labored and the nausea had come back. 

"M'not clumsy in bed," he said softly.

Raphael didn't answer.

"I'm real good at it," Leonardo said with a half shrug. "Not everyone can charge half a grand. Not everyone gets hired for VIP parties. 'Specially when I'm not doing lines with everyone else."

"...Leo. I..."

They were in world now that Raphael didn't understand, using terms that Raphael couldn't follow. 

"Look, you're all good something." Leonardo waved his hand up in the air, as if he could motion at the vast number of skills they had over him. "Donatello's a genius—admit it, he shouldn't be able to do half of what he does underground with stolen crap. You're a walking brick wall and you can do that thing where you get huge and grab falling turtles out of the air. And Mikey, he's a freakin' artist and an acrobat and..."

Raphael saw an opening and took it. "And you're stealthy and smart and you read people like a book. You—"

"No." Leonardo blew out a long sigh with the air of someone who'd already had this argument with himself. "I can be sneaky. But I can barely stay on my own damn feet in a fight and what's the point of reading people? 'Oh, that guy with the gun shooting at us wants us dead!' Yeah, real useful."

"Leo—"

"I'm done talking," Leonardo said, and he pulled the pillow out from behind himself, hugging it close like a shield. "Boring conversation anyway."

"Boring or not, I'm shelling out five hundred bucks for it," Raphael said. "So we keep going."

"You paid for the works," Leonardo said, "which, I never thought before you'd want a demonstration of what I can do—"

"I paid for intercourse," Raphael said, smiling when Leonardo looked at him. "Verbal intercourse. At least an hour."

Realizing the trick, Leonardo groaned and pushed his face down into the pillow. "Ugh. I'll give you a refund."

"No deal," Raphael said. "So I guess the real question is why are you doing it? Do you like doing this?"  
Raphael motioned at the room—peeling wallpaper, stained carpet, linens gone pink with age and a mouse hole in the floorboard. "I mean, shell, I think we got better stuff at home, and that's saying something."

Leonardo didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes was clear. No, he didn't like it.

"Is it the money?" Raphael asked. "We can smash and grab anything we want in this city. We got rows of arcade games 'cause Mikey wouldn't shut up about it."

The city outside was coming to life. The smell of corn dogs, ramen and falafel wafted in from the window. And that reminded Leonardo of his arguments, like providing ammunition.

"I can buy food," Leonardo said ruefully, "for myself, just me, instead of trying to grab something between you three. I'm not hungry anymore."

The familiar argument came to Raphael's lips, wanted to be said— _he didn't eat all the food in the house_ —but he let it go. 

"We should make more food runs," Raphael gave in. "But that can't be the only thing."

Leonardo gripped the pillow more tightly and didn't answer. Raphael didn't push, but he didn't try to fill up the awkward silence, either. The awkwardness was all that was forcing his brother to keep talking.

"You wouldn't understand," Leonardo murmured. "You...you can do a lot of things."

Raphael didn't know what to say to that. To his luck, that turned out to be the right reaction.

"It..." Leonardo slumped. "It's the only thing I can do right."

"Whoa, wait—"

"You wouldn't get it," Leonardo said, his voice small and faint. "You're so damn strong without even trying. It must come so naturally to you. All of you. And I..."

He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand.

"So yeah, it's stupid. I'm stupid. What else is new? But at least I got something I can do without screwing up." He chuckled despite himself. "Mm, some screwing, anyway."

So there. He'd said it. And Raphael stared at him like he knew would happen. The sick, hollow feeling in Leonardo's stomach seemed to go forever. 

Raphael's hand came up to touch his face, cupping his cheek. His thumb swept just under Leonardo's eye.

"Naw. Ain't stupid." Raphael leaned his elbow on his knee, looking as if he hadn't slept all night. "I guess I'd feel the same way if I got hurt like that."

Leonardo almost replied, but Raphael's hand was warm and his rough skin felt conversely inviting—Leonardo tilted his hand into his palm.

"Can you promise me something?" Raphael asked.

Leonardo squeezed his eyes shut, about to say that no, he wasn't going home—

"Don't ever call yourself a slut again?" Raphael said. "Please? No one thinks you're that. Well, except you."

He couldn't answer. What was there to say?

Raphael didn't push. Didn't ask other questions. After a moment, Raphael left through the window and minutes later returned with fresh food from the carts and aspirin for the lingering headache.

"'Course," Raphael said, stretching out beside Leonardo on lone chair in the room. "Now I'ma have to write you an IOU, 'cause like I had the full hundred fifty, but those jerks charge higher prices for us 'yokai'."

With a full stomach and fading pains, Leonardo half-smiled.

"Lousiest way to ask for discount I've heard," he said. A look crossed his face. "What were you going to do if I...if I took you serious? If I started going down on you?"

"If that means what I think it means..." Raphael grimaced. "I would have stopped ya."

Pause.

"But I would'a been really torn about stoppin' ya."

Leonardo blinked.

"Really?"

"...yeah." Raphael shrugged, suddenly entranced by the nonexistent pattern on the carpet. "That...that, uh, that bother ya?"

A disbelieving laugh crept out of Leonardo, and he put his hand over his mouth, laughing again.

"Raph, I'm so far past being bothered by anything..." 

Raphael grimaced. "But, like...bad bothered or...?" He groaned and started to clean up the styrafoam dishes. "Gah, nevermind."

Leonardo put his hand out, grabbing Raphael's wrist to stop him.

"How long?"

Raphael sighed. He knew exactly what his brother meant, and he sat down beside him again.

"Ever since you got dropped off a building. I would of felt awful if Mikey or Donny got dropped, but you...I couldn't stop thinking about you afterward. Like...that. You know."

Leonardo managed a half-smile. "Yeah, believe me, I know."

Raphael smiled in return. "So...you gonna come home? Or am I gonna have to come visit you here?"

Leonardo hesitated for a long time. All he had to go on was Raphael's assurances, and Raphael clearly wanted him back. But...if his brother wasn't lying...

"They won't...?"

He couldn't think of what to ask. He didn't have to. Raphael knew.

"C'mon, if this happened to any of us, would you think we were bad?"

Leonardo couldn't argue with that.

Ready to leave, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, then promptly buckled and sat back down before he could fall. His face burned in embarrassment. One rough night and now he couldn't even stand on his own feet. 

Raphael bent and, without another word, swung him up into one arm, holding him securely. 

"Looks like I'll have to give you the valet treatment," Raphael said. "We'll get back home and you can get some more sleep."

The promise of sinking into his bed was enough to quell some of Leonardo's worries, and he hung on and let Raphael take him back. He could imagine the looks on his siblings when they arrived all too well—Michelangelo's disgust, Donatello's sidelong glances—

_"—ruining you for anyone else, you little—"_

He hid himself from memories of the red room in the crook of Raphael's neck, so he didn't see streets blurring by, barely felt the drop down into the storm drain and the long run back home. 

Almost before his feet touched the floor, Leonardo stumbled back against Raphael as Michelangelo charged, wrapping him up in a bear hug that all but squeezed the life out of him.

""Leo! Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to make you feel bad and then I finally got why you were hurt so bad before and..." Michelangelo nuzzled his cheek against Leonardo's plastron. "You should have said something, bro'! You should have said something and let me help—I didn't get why you were coughing blood and I could've—"

It took some strength, but Leonardo managed to clamp his hands down on Michelangelo's shoulders and push him off, holding him at arm's length.

"No!" he said, sounding half-strangled. "That was the whole point! I didn't want you to know. I didn't want you to know."

Michelangelo frowned. "But...why?"

Not understanding how his little brother could be so oblivious, Leonardo grimaced. "If...if it had been you, Mikey, would you have wanted anyone to know?"

Michelangelo blinked.

"Well, duh, of course—after all that, I don't think I'd do anything but lie in bed for a week. I don't think I could've done anything afterward. I'd be scared he'll find us again."

Michelangelo didn't know. Leonardo let him close the hug again, holding him in return, bowing his head over his little brother. Michelangelo didn't know the man was dead. Raphael hadn't told them anything.

What would be worse—his family knowing he'd whored himself out or that he'd hunted down the nameless human and killed him, and killed several people afterward?

"Yeah," he murmured. "Scared."

The rest of the morning passed with another, real shower and Donatello insisted on bandaging up the small wounds that Leonardo hadn't even noticed he'd picked up—stinging abrasions on his hands and arms and knees, the fight bites on his knuckles, the bruising around his mouth that neither of them commented on.

Raphael wasn't sure what to do with himself. He didn't want to seem like he was hovering, but he also didn't want to let his brother out of his sight. But he didn't want to follow him around the lair, either. But he didn't want to obviously lean on the door so no one could go in or out. But he didn't want to go too far from Leonardo. But...

From the couch, Splinter audibly snoring broke Raphael out of his spiral. He huffed and went to the kitchen, gathering a snack that took a whole shelf full of fruits, a bucket of chicken and leftover pizza.

_"I can buy food"_

He looked again at what he held in his hands. Then looked at what was left.

A bottle of ketchup. Leftover salad. A mystery tupperware tilted sideways and leaking something onto the bottom of the refrigerator.

"Maybe we can do a food run today," he mumbled, putting back the bucket. "As much as we can carry. And...tomorrow, too."

Every excursion brought the risk of discovery, but maybe this was one risk they needed to run a few more of. Maybe if they explored a little bit more of the yokai world...

He shook his head. Questions for later. For now, he took his snack and headed for the lab. He found it empty save for Donatello putting away the medical supplies.

"Leon said he's going to bed." Donatello glanced over his shoulder, slumping down at his workstation. A handful of unwound bandages hung from his fingers, twisted up as he fidgeted. "How long's this been going on?"

"...I don't know," Raphael said.

"I mean, yeah, I know when they came back," Donatello said. "I get that it was painful and bad and I can't even begin to imagine what happened to him, and oh my god, how did he keep Mikey from finding out when Mikey was right. freakin. there. But I didn't even notice anything. I didn't see a damn thing. How did I not pick up on any clues?"

"He's a sneaky little shit," Raphael said immediately. "Always has been. This is just what happens when he hides things from us."

"Is he hiding anything else?" Donatello asked. "What else am I missing? What else was he doing? Is doing? Is he still going to go out...'working'? What's he gonna do if someone—" 

Donatello grimaced. "Nevermind, no, uh-uh, do not want to know everything. But Raph, it's not healthy, it's not...doing this, it's super dangerous in so many ways."

"I get it," Raphael said. "And..."

He shrugged.

"I talked to him. I'll talk with him more. But he ain't a prisoner, Donny. We can't lock him up. It'd be just as bad as putting him back in that cage."

"There's a difference between cages and curfew," Donatello grumbled, waving away Raphael's rising argument. "Fine, fine, I get it. But—"

He finally noticed what was in Raphael's hands.

"Did you leave anything in the fridge?" Donatello said, and he slumped even further in his chair. "Another night where we consider cooking Michelangelo then?"

"No," Raphael said, sticking out his tongue. "We'll do a food run today. Soon as it's dark. And, uh, probably tomorrow."

"Yes, yes, and the day after that, too," Donatello said. "If we're going to restock the 'fridge and the pantry and the cabinets. Good, Mikey lives another day."

Giving his brother another look, Raphael turned on his heel and went out, heading to Leonardo's room. The door was half-shut, so he leaned in and looked around.

He was too big to fit comfortably, and the light still didn't work. Leonardo's bed was unmade and empty save for the sword tossed across the mattress. There was the poster, the nightstand, a few other things...and little else. Leonardo wasn't inside.

Raphael fought down the chill that tingled at the edge of his shell. No—Leonardo had not left. The sword had been in the exact same position earlier that night, last he'd checked. Right? He turned and scanned the lair, didn't see his brother, and went to his room to put down his snack. With his hands free, he could search their home more thoroughly, check the—

He found his brother sitting on his bunk-bed, legs dangling off the side. Leonardo looked up, wide-eyed, gripping the edges of the bed.

Neither spoke. Leonardo looked away again.

Raphael put the food down on his nightstand. Then sat down beside his brother, jostling him to scoot over.

"Scared the shell off me," Raphael grumbled. "Thought you vanished again."

Leonardo shrugged. 

No banter, no bad puns, no disarming comment to deflect the awkward tension. Raphael's jaw clenched, unclenched. This was not something he knew how to deal with. And as the silence stretched and he failed to say anything, Raphael thought he might grind his teeth down to nothing in frustration. Say something, say something...but he couldn't think of anything.

"So...can I sleep here tonight?" Leonardo asked, putting his arms around himself. "I mean, I get it if it's weird, I can go back, this was kinda dumb anyway and...um."

"Sure," Raphael said, before his brother could talk himself out of it. "But I kinda gotta take a nap, too, so if you don't mind it being a little crowded?"

"—that's okay," Leonardo said too quickly, wincing at how he sounded. "That's...okay. Cool."

Laying back, stretching out on his side, Raphael scrunched himself back up against the wall to give his brother as much room as he could. While he was adjusting, he heard the rustle of cardboard and realized that Leonardo was poaching a quick bite.

"We're doing a food run," Raphael grumbled to himself. "After sunset."

Leonardo didn't answer. That was probably the rest of the pizza. Raphael stifled his sigh even as his stomach growled. Hell with it. He'd finish off the rest of the leftovers when he woke up. If it was even still there later.

Scrambling clumsily back onto the bed, having to get his knee up to turn sideways, Leonardo finally lay down beside him. To Raphael's surprise, the clumsiness faded as his brother pillowed his head on Raphael's arm, effortlessly nestling close and tucking his head under Raphael's chin. Leonardo could barely run without tripping over himself but he knew how to gracefully curl up in someone else's space.

At first, Raphael thought his brother would want to talk a little more now that they were alone again. Instead he simply heard him breathing, steadily sinking into sleep. Raphael put his arm around him, holding him close so he wouldn't roll off the bed. 

This close, he couldn't help seeing the bruises and cuts up close. Some of them came from the fight, and some of them...didn't. Raphael frowned. He didn't think anything was resolved. He didn't think he was so good that he'd talked his brother out of anything but running away from home.

And he didn't know what to say to do anything more than that.

But Leonardo was home. Raphael would take his victories where he could get them. He would stay close and stay positive and keep the kitchen well stocked, and maybe then Leonardo would have no reason to go out again. At least not like that. 

He reached up to turn off his lamp, then thought better of it. The paper lantern provided a night light that covered them both in a red glow and turned the room a warm shade of scarlet. Leonardo turned fitfully in his sleep, burying his face in Raphael's throat, but his brother's hand squeezed once and held him closer, and the nightmare seemed to fade.

Raphael let his eyes close. He would keep his brother company until Leonardo felt safer, no matter how long that took.


End file.
